


home is where

by accidentallymelted



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:12:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentallymelted/pseuds/accidentallymelted
Summary: In the aftermath of a disastrous Game 7, James Neal takes a trip.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [absention](https://archiveofourown.org/users/absention/gifts).



> absention, I hope this is close to what you were hoping for! I really liked all of your prompts, but I hadn't done anything with these two recently, and I couldn't resist. :) Thanks so much to K and H for stepping up to perform last-minute beta duties, ilu both.

James doesn’t think about how weird it is until he’s standing on Paul’s doorstep, bags in hand. He’d have been here sooner, even, but he’s got an A, now, he can’t skip out on locker clean out to go sulk on his best friend’s couch. His best friend, whose team eliminated them from the playoffs in an embarrassment of a Game 7 – it’s possible, James admits as he stares at Paul’s door without knocking, that he did not think this through.

He’s debating turning around and getting a cab back to the airport and forgetting that this ever happened when Paul opens the door, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired and says, “James?”

“Uh,” James says, blinking. Paul is wearing his glasses and a threadbare white t-shirt over pajama pants and looks like he just woke up. “Hi?”

Paul blinks back at him before stepping aside and opening the door wider. James wavers for a moment, but he’s already _here_ , and he really wants to hang out with Paul. Even if the Sharks are still in the playoffs because they beat the Preds, even if Game 7 was an utter disaster – he still wants to hang out with Paul.

Once he’s inside, Paul closes the door behind him and blinks at him again, shaking his head. “Did I know you were coming?” he asks, bringing a hand up to rub at his forehead.

“Nooooo,” James says, drawing it out uncertainly. He hadn’t specifically told Paul that he was coming, and now that he’s actually here, in Paul’s house, all the reasons that this is a _bad idea_ are hitting him.

Except – he _always_ goes over to Paul’s to mope after he gets kicked out of the playoffs. It’s a tradition. It’s so automatic that James didn’t even think about it, he just got on a plane – and now he’s here, and Paul’s blinking at him in confusion.

“I could – “ James starts to say, and gestures at the door, but Paul shakes his head, reaches out and grabs James’ bag and tugs it away from him. He sets it down and then pulls James into a hug. James freezes for a second, then hugs him back, hard. _This_ is what he came for – Paul’s hugs make everything better.

“It’s good to see you, it was just – a surprise. C’mon in. Did you eat on the plane?” He reaches down and picks up James’ bag and heads further into the house, with James trailing after him.

“I hate plane food,” James says, whining a little. Paul shoots a glance over his shoulder, looking fondly exasperated.

“I know you do. Well, let’s put your stuff down, and then I’ll feed you.” James is still tired, and confused, and heartsick over the way his season ended, but somehow that doesn’t matter right now. Paul is teasing him just like he always does, and he’s going to feed James like the giant mother hen he not-so-secretly is, and everything else can wait.

0o0o0o0o0

Paul lays in bed and stares at the ceiling, frowning a little. His alarm is set to go off in a few minutes, and he’ll have to get up then, but in the meantime, he’s thinking about James. It’s not an unusual pastime for him, but _usually,_ James isn’t sleeping just down the hall in his spare bedroom. Paul sighs and rolls over, burying his face in his pillow.

James hadn’t mentioned that he was coming, and Paul hadn’t really been expecting him – he comes over for a few weeks after the season ends to eat Paul’s food and sulk, but Paul somehow thought it would be different when it was his own team that knocked the Predators out of the playoffs. He remembers the look on James’ face when they met in the handshake line – mingled heartbreak and frustration. He’d said the right things – _good game, good series, you played well_ – but Paul had expected that it would be several weeks before the sting wore off enough that James would talk to him. Not that he would show up four days after the Predators had locker clean out.

His alarm starts beeping and he reaches out a hand and feels about for it, shutting it off without taking his head out of his pillow. James was . . . fine, yesterday. They talked a little about his summer plans, where he might train, vacations he might take, and it all seemed normal – or at least as normal as James is capable of being. They talked about the Penguins, and how they’ve been absolutely steamrolling the rest of the league for the past couple of months, and how Geno’s doing (increasingly excited and stressed about the baby). James showed Paul pictures of the onesies he’s bought for baby Malkin, and Paul is aware that he was probably making a stupid face, but it was _James_. And _baby clothes_. He’s only human, after all.

As he rolls over and gets out of bed, he can’t help but remember that he has a game tonight. He makes his way down to the kitchen and thinks that, for all their conversation yesterday, he and James hadn’t mentioned the fact that the Sharks are still in the playoffs at all.

0o0o0o0o0

James is aware that he’s being weird, but he can’t seem to stop himself. He came out to California because Paul makes everything better, so he wants to spend as much time with Paul as possible. But Paul’s team is still in the playoffs, which means that half the time, Paul’s not even _here_.

The Sharks are set to leave for St. Louis this afternoon, and James is sulking on Paul’s bed, watching him pack. He’s still in his glasses, and his hair is rumpled from all the time he spends running his hands through it. It’s gotten long, James can’t help but notice, and it looks soft and inviting. His fingers twitch involuntarily.

Paul stifles a yawn behind his hand, and James frowns at him in concern. Playoffs are a grueling exercise in endurance, he knows – he’s still exhausted, and he’s no longer playing every other night. Paul glances over at him and quirks an eyebrow at him in question.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” James asks, and Paul looks momentarily startled before letting out a soft laugh.

“There’s no such thing,” he says, and stifles another yawn. James’ frown deepens, and he pushes up off the bed.

“Go take a nap, old man,” he says, grabbing the shirt and tie Paul’s holding out of his hands. “I’ll finish this for you.”

“You don’t need-“ Paul starts to protest, but James shoves him out of the room.

“I know what needs to be packed for a one-game road trip, Paulie,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Go nap in my room, I’ll finish packing for you.”

Paul hovers in the doorway for a moment, seemingly unsure, but James turns his back on him pointedly and starts pulling the pieces of his game day suit out of his closet. Eventually, he hears Paul sigh and wander down the hall, hopefully to take James’ advice and take a nap.

James packs up everything Paul will need for the trip, then double-checks to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything that Paul will need. Once he’s satisfied, he flops down on the couch in the living room with his phone and messes around on Instagram until it’s time for Paul to wake up to leave for the airport. When a few minutes have passed and he hasn’t heard anything from his room, he levers himself up off the couch and goes to wake Paul up.

It’s the worst thing he could have done, he realizes almost immediately. The bed isn’t _his_ , not really, but all of his stuff is lying around the room, and it looks like it could be his. And now he has a visual reference for what Paul would look like, in his room, in his bed, and fuck, _fuck_ , how had he not noticed before that he was in love with Paulie?

He swallows hard and shoves that thought down to deal with later, and goes over to shake him awake. Paul is a pretty heavy sleeper, and he scrunches up his face when James grabs him by the shoulder. He turns his head into the pillow in denial, and says, muffled, “Five more minutes.”

“You’re going to be late to the airport,” James says, and Paul lets out an aggrieved sigh and opens his eyes. They’re bleary with sleep and Paul’s shortsightedness, but James doesn’t think he’s imagining how they soften when they look at him. He swallows, and tries out a smile. “I packed your bag, it’s sitting by the door.”

“Thanks,” Paul says, making no move to get out of bed. They stay there for a long moment, just looking at each other, then James can’t deal with it anymore, and looks at his phone.

“I wasn’t kidding about you being late,” he manages, and Paul groans but manages to lever himself up out of bed and into the bathroom. James tries not to hover, but he’s not sure how well he manages, and Paul gives him a wry grin as he’s grabbing his bag and leaving.

“I’ll be back in a couple of days,” he says.

“I’ll be here,” James calls, and watches as Paul drives away.

0o0o0o0o0

The Sharks fly back to San Jose right after the game – a good, solid win that put them up 3-2 in the series, with a real chance of advancing to the Stanley Cup finals, and Paul is jittery with adrenaline. He doesn’t get much sleep on the plane, so he’s thinking longingly of home and his bed when he collects his car and drives back to his house.

There’s a light on in his living room, visible as he pulls the car into the garage, and he feels his heart give a funny lurch. He doesn’t know why he thought James might have left – he’s been getting Snapchats from James of food that he’s been making in Paul’s kitchen, and he _said_ he’d be there when Paul got back. But some part of Paul had remained stubbornly convinced that James wasn’t going to be waiting for him when he got home, that he couldn’t possibly be that lucky. He takes a deep breath and opens door, bringing his bag inside and dropping it by the laundry basket on his way through to the living room.

James is stretched out on the couch, fast asleep, his mouth open slightly as he snores. It is, objectively, a completely unattractive picture – James is making a stupid face, and drooling a little – but Paul _does not care_. He feels a little like he’s been punched, but in a good way, because James _stayed_. He stayed, and he waited up for Paul to get home, and Paul wants this so much it feels like there’s a steel band wrapped around his heart, squeezing.

“James,” he says, and James stirs, opening his eyes and looking around until he sees Paul, and then he beams.

“Paulie!” he exclaims, sitting up and coming over to hug him. “You’re back! How’d it go?”

Paul leans forward into the hug, resting his forehead against James’ shoulder. “Good,” he says, and stifles a yawn. “It was good.” He starts to pull back from the hug but James makes a noise of protest and tightens his arms, and Paul lets himself fall back into it.

“I’m glad,” James says, and they stand there for a long moment before another yawn hits Paul, and he can’t quite stifle this one. James laughs and finally pulls back from the hug, and when Paul opens his eyes he sees James smiling warmly at him. “C’mon, bedtime,” he says, and takes Paul by the arm and steers him towards the bedroom.

Paul isn’t sure where he gets the courage – or maybe he’s just exhausted and his self-control is gone – but when James goes to head for his own room, he grabs him by the hand. “Stay?” he asks, when James looks at him in surprise.

James hesitates for a long moment, looking hard at Paul, and Paul feels his heart start to sink. But then James smiles and shakes his head, laughing a little as he follows Paul into his bedroom.

“I had a whole speech prepared,” he says, once Paul’s changed into his pajamas and they’re in bed together. Paul is almost asleep, and James’ voice is soft. He reaches out and pats James on the shoulder.

“I want to hear the speech,” he says, rolling over on his back and stretching out. “Tomorrow, though,” he says, and the last thing he hears before he drifts off is James’ voice, with a smile in it.

“Yeah, Paulie. Tomorrow sounds good.”


End file.
